


On Being Arthur's Living Alarm Clock

by peachchild



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is Arthur's personal assistant, and he knows no one can do the job as well as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Being Arthur's Living Alarm Clock

Merlin is fairly certain that he is the only one that keeps Arthur functioning some days. Of course, this could be an exaggeration, but only a _minor_ one. After all, in some ways, Arthur is unaware of just how much Merlin does on a daily basis to keep his whole life from collapsing into pandemonium.

This is part of the reason Merlin never takes sick days. He knows he has them available, if and when he comes down with a terrible case of influenza or pneumonia or something life-threatening, but the idea of leaving Arthur to fend for himself is horrifying. There are so many things Arthur never has to think about because Merlin is there to think about them for him. He’s fairly certain Arthur wouldn’t eat if Merlin didn’t bring him his lunch or order takeaway for him in the evenings on his way home from the office.

Merlin made himself a copy of Arthur’s flat key three years ago, when he realized that Arthur was only pleasant company after he had a cappuccino. Arthur wasn’t too pleased to have Merlin open the blinds so that the sun poured into the room, telling him to get out of bed in a tone far too cheerful for six o’clock in the morning, especially since he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten into the flat. Of course, he forgave him when he set a mug on his nightstand and said he had breakfast waiting in the kitchen as a reward if he got up “like a good boy.”

This is their routine now, one Merlin enjoys. And today, like always, he lets himself into the flat, stomping his boots before sliding out of them on the mat so he doesn’t track mud and snow into the flat, and hangs his coat and messenger bag on the rack in the foyer.

He pads into the kitchen to retrieve a mug from the cupboard and starts the cappuccino maker, an investment Arthur made after two weeks of receiving his cappuccinos half-gone due to Merlin tripping and spilling them on the way to bringing them to him. He has a much greater chance of getting them to him in full if he only has to make a trip from the kitchen to the bedroom.

When it’s ready, he fills the mug, sets it on a saucer so that he has less of a chance of dripping it onto Arthur’s pristine cream carpet. He slides the drink onto his nightstand, moving over to whisk the curtains open. The light pours across the bed, and Merlin turns to face his sleeping boss, hands on hips. “Up and at ‘em, lazy daisy!”

Arthur groans, covering his head with his pillow. “ _Mer_ lin, is there nothing else you can say when waking me up?”

“There’s plenty, but there are few things as enjoyable for me.” He calls out from inside his closet, where he’s picking out various shirts and trousers to create his outfit for the day. He hangs in the bathroom a tan suit with a pale blue shirt and dark blue tie, dropping his favorite shoes and black dress socks onto the floor. “Alright. Have a shower and get dressed. Would you like French toast for breakfast?”

“Eggs.” He grunts from the bed, his face pressed into the pillow.

“Scrambled?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Don’t hang about. You have a meeting at nine o’clock, and I’ll not take the blame if you’re late again. You also have to have a look at the ads for the Greenpeace newsletter and confirm them before they’re sent out, not to mention your afternoon interview with the chairman about your work for global warming.”

“Merlin.” Arthur looks over at him, still sprawled on his stomach, his unclothed back broad and unmarked. Merlin wonders sometimes where he finds the time to work out in order to look like that. “Isn’t the purpose of ‘not mentioning’ something to _not mention it_.”

Merlin clicks his tongue. “Aren’t we grumpy today? Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Your breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes. Your cappuccino’s going cold.” He avoids the pillow his boss throws at him and heads out to the kitchen, where he hums lightly as he retrieves the eggs, cheese and butter from the fridge, and finds the frying pan so he can begin his breakfast.

There are a few things that make it worth it to put up with Arthur’s attitude and general pompousness. One of them is the “Thank you” he unthinkingly grants Merlin in the mornings as he scrapes eggs onto his plate and sets toast with jam on a saucer beside him. Another is the fact that he always offers him some of the excess food so that they can eat together, instead of expecting him to have eaten before he arrives.

And let’s not forget the fact that Merlin is working for a leaders in helping companies of all sorts go green; he’s one of the first to make his millions teaching others how to reduce waste. Merlin figures he’s learning a lot from him, just by being near him, and when the day comes for him to take a higher-paying job, a step up in the world, he’ll have an ecological pioneer for a reference.

Mostly, though, he appreciates Arthur in weary moments, during their early breakfasts, late-night dinners or long plane rides. Many people are more irritable when tired; Arthur is strangely soft and agreeable. Merlin thinks he’s the only one who knows Arthur like this. He doesn’t have a girlfriend (or boyfriend, for that matter) and can afford to own a flat all on his own, so no flatmate either. He has drinking mates, mostly men he works with, but Merlin doubts any of them have ever had to crash on his couch for lack of means of getting home. No, Merlin is his closest friend, even if Arthur wouldn’t ever admit that.

“Thank god it’s Friday, yeah?” Merlin grins at him, scraping his eggs up from his plate to spoon them into his mouth.

Arthur grunts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be working in the morning anyway. Morgana’s coming to help me draft a contract with that paper towel company; I can’t recall the name.”

“I’m sure that will be helpful in the drafting.” His assistant nods mock-solemnly, eyes far too innocent. “Besides, how can you do any work if you don’t get your lazy arse out of bed?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

He grins, toothy and bright, in a way he knows is just enough to set Arthur’s nerves on end this early. “Well, I’ll certainly not be here to wake you.”

“Yes.” He nods, tearing a bite out of his toast. “What do you do on your holidays, Merlin?”

“Well, I’ll have a lie-in. I quite enjoy that.” He sips his orange juice, happily filched from Arthur’s fridge, since he knows his boss doesn’t drink it (and probably only buys it because Merlin likes it). “Perhaps do some reading. Catch up on my programs. Rather difficult being behind on _Doctor Who_.” He sighs lamentably.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Well, enjoy your lie-in. I’ll be cursing you while I handle Morgana.”

“It’s more you’ll be handled _by_ Morgana.” Merlin jokes.

Arthur just tells him to shut up again.

The next morning, promptly at eight, Merlin whips open Arthur’s curtains, leaving him yelping, surprised. “ _Mer_ lin!”

He sets his hands on his hips, satisfied. He’s still in his flannel trousers, no doubt having rolled out of bed rather recently. “Right. Up and at ‘em.”

“What are you _doing_ here?”

“Well, I couldn’t very well sleep knowing that if I didn’t wake you, Morgana would, and she would be much less kind about it.”

“I have an alarm, you know.”

“Did you remember to set it?”

Arthur opens his mouth to protest that _yes, he most certainly did_ only to close it when he realizes that would be an outright lie.

“Right. Out of bed.”

Merlin is certain that Arthur wouldn’t get anything done without him.

***

Arthur looks up, somewhat startled, when Merlin drops the bag on his table. “Merlin? What…?”

“Lunch.” He offers as explanation. “Curry, from the Indian place around the corner, the one you like but never remember the name of.”

“Mmm.” He has already returned to the paperwork he’s been shuffling through for the past half an hour.

“You’re not going to ignore me. You’re going to eat it.”

“Merlin, I have a lot to do.”

“You’ll have a whole lot less to do if you’re dead… which sounds more like a reason you should starve to death – oh, you’ll get much less done if you’re dead. There.” He sets the plastic container down on the desk in front of him, along with a fork in plastic wrapping and his third cappuccino of the day. “There you are. Eat. I’ll be back in forty-five minutes to make sure you did.”

“What if I don’t?” The question is defiant and petulant, especially since Arthur is already opening the food and poking at it with his fork.

Merlin humors him anyway. “Then I’ll have to feed you like the child like whom you insist on behaving.”

Arthur huffs and glares up at him before tucking into his food. Merlin smiles at him, opening his own lunch, a salad from the vegetarian restaurant down the street. Arthur notices. “Why didn’t you get yourself something?”

He blinks at him, points a fork, on which a tomato is speared, at his salad. “I did, sir.”

“Merlin, you get salads for lunch and then your stomach is screaming by the time three o’clock rolls around so you have to keep granola bars in your desk. Why don’t you just get something more sustaining?”

“Well, we don’t all have wallets as fat as yours.” He quips.

“Why don’t you order on my card?”

“Because it’s your card…”

“ _Mer_ lin.” Arthur is a fan of long-suffering sighs. “From now on, wherever you go to get my lunch, buy your own lunch as well.”

He rolls his eyes but can’t really hold off the smile. “Yes, sir.”

***

Arthur’s “SOS!” text messages are some of Merlin’s favorites. He receives one at least twice a month because apparently Arthur’s life falls apart without Merlin there to succeed in making sure he has his paperwork and to warn him when Morgana is on her way toward his office so that he can dive out the window with a parachute or whatever it is that he does so that he always manages to escape.

Right now, the PA is in the process of running up the stairs to the conference room, because the lifts were simply moving too slowly, and Arthur needs him _immediately_ as is stressed in capital letters and punctuated with several dozen exclamation marks which means this is _clearly_ a situation of the most dire urgency.

Arthur is pacing outside of the conference room when Merlin reaches him. He’s dressed sharply in his best navy suit – best in Merlin’s opinion anyway; it looks most dashing on him – and tugs at the knot of his tie as if he can’t breathe. Relief smoothes the lines from his face when he sees Merlin. “Merlin, thank god. I’ve forgotten to save the charts to the computer, and I have to make this pitch in ten minutes. I need you to go to my office and – what?”

Merlin has been glaring at him almost since he began speaking. “You couldn’t have told me this while I was at my desk _outside_ of your office?”

“I didn’t think about it…”

“Of course you didn’t.” He shakes his head, fishes into his pocket and hands him the flash drive that he keeps on his keychain. “I saved your yesterday when you finished it. Remember last month when your system crashed and we were unable to retrieve it? Think ahead, Arthur.”

He blinks at him, and for a moment, Merlin thinks his boss might cry from gratitude. The moment passes, of course, when irritation pinches the space between his eyebrows again. “Why the scolding if you had it with you all along?”

“I hold to it! Mobiles exist for a reason, Arthur! Not to mention my desk phone.” He sticks his tongue out at him rather unprofessionally before heading off for the lifts to take him back to his own workspace. “Oh!” He turns, catches Arthur as he opens the door to the conference room, flashes him a grin. “Good luck!”

Arthur smiles at him in a way that makes him blush.

***

In hindsight, Merlin thinks he probably should have expected something like this.

It isn’t that he consciously forgot to pick up Arthur’s dry-cleaning. In fact, he _didn’t_ forget; he just assumed he had another day before he needed to pick it up. It was just a miscommunication, an error of dates.

Alright, maybe not a miscommunication, just a mistake – everyone makes those, last time he checked. And really, it seems a bit of an overreaction on Arthur’s part. He has plenty of nice clothes; what’s the difference if he wears one of his nice three-piece suits instead of a tuxedo?

Alright, so Merlin knows the answer to that, but it seems petty and unreasonable for Arthur to be screaming at him for it, except that apparently his father was at this particular engagement, and of course, Merlin understands why that could complicate things.

Uther Pendragon is the CEO of Camelot Corporation, a company that specializes in the production of office supplies, particularly various kinds of notebooks, lined papers and printer papers. Albion Corps, led in force by Morgana and aided (somewhat reluctantly) by Arthur, has filed several environmental lawsuits against them for their contribution to the depletion of the rainforests.

Their estranged father was certainly not pleased by this, especially after both of his children opted out of working for the family business and instead began a company of their own which fought against almost everything Uther did, but he does look at them both with slightly more respect now, as if the direct confrontation between their companies was a rite of passage that suddenly made them worthy of Uther’s pride.

Of course, their relationship can only be thought of as strained, careful, and each move can mend or break the wound thread that holds them together. Morgana constantly winds it tighter, almost too the point of breaking, in constant defiance of her father’s expectations, but Arthur still fumbles nervously at dinner engagements or business parties as if afraid to give Uther reason to harbor any sort of distaste for him.

Merlin knows all of these things, has known them since his second week working for Arthur, when a dinner with his father made it impossible for Arthur to relax or even concentrate, the agitation welling up in him until Morgana explained to Merlin that he needs to be forced out of the office for at least half a day beforehand, so Merlin ushers him outside to get ice cream and eat hot dogs in the park – probably not what Morgana had in mind, but it worked. At the very least, Arthur spent the afternoon griping about how bad the food was and not worrying about his dinner with his father.

They have an unspoken agreement, because it’s necessary, that Merlin needs to be informed of Arthur’s engagements with his father beforehand, so that he knows to work especially hard and be more than usually competent. Now, Merlin is good at remembering to feed Arthur and getting him necessary resources at a moment’s notice, but he’s hopeless with his own schedule and often, somehow, manages to electrocute himself using his mobile or splash tea in his lap when feeling especially overwhelmed with tasks.

On this particular Wednesday morning, Merlin managed both in a very short amount of time and, on returning from the toilet where he had attempted to clean himself up (only really succeeding in spreading the dark spot on his pants), he realized that Arthur had an appointment with a prospective secretary (because Merlin is the only one who can put up with his boss for long periods of time, it seems) in half an hour, and he needed to pull up her résumé and have it out on his desk when she arrived.

He explains all of this to Arthur as carefully as he can, since he knows he _knows_ all of this information about him already. “So you can see why it would be easy to forget to fetch the dry-cleaning.”

Arthur’s shoulders tremble, his jaw tight and hard, patience held firmly behind gritted teeth. He leans on his hands on his desk, and Merlin takes a moment to admire the strong lines of his shoulders, how _grown-up_ and in-power Arthur looks right now – not the petulant brat he usually works for. “But you _knew_ that the gala was last night. You knew I needed my tuxedo cleaned and pressed.”

“No, you see, I thought it was tonight!” Merlin realizes too late that his cheerfully explanatory tone is probably not helping, and that this mistake probably doesn’t make up for the other mistake. “I had it in my mobile wrong; you must’ve told me the wrong date.”

Also the wrong thing to say, judging by the look on Arthur’s face and the way he pushes himself away from the desk, moving around it to close in on Merlin. “You have a great deal of nerve to blame your idiocy and incompetence on me. You should have double- and triple-checked the date of this gala. I looked like a fool in front of my father, wearing my day suit as if I arrived there right off work.”

“I – didn’t you go there from here? You were planning on changing into your dinner clothes here in your office.”

“That is not the _point_ , Merlin! I should not arrive to my dinners looking incapable of dressing myself appropriately.”

“You looked _nice_ yesterday, sir.” There are few times when he reverts to this title, and in the face of Arthur’s anger might be the only ones. “I don’t really understand the problem.”

“No, you don’t.” He leans against his desk, runs a tired hand over his face before folding his arms across his chest. “Merlin, I am no longer in need of your services.”

Merlin stares at him for a moment, his mouth agape. “You’re _sacking_ me? Over _dry-cleaning_? Sir, you can’t be serious. I’m the best PA you’ve ever had; you told me that yourself.”

“Yes, but you are also the least experienced with my lifestyle. I’m sorry. You’ll have compensation until the end of the month.”

“Arthur -”

“That will be all, Merlin.”

His shoulders sink, his heart settling deep in his stomach, and it feels like acid is churning up to slowly devour it. He runs his tongue over his lips, then smiles lightly. “Well. It’s been an honor working for you, sir. I’ve learned a lot from you, and I’m glad to have been given the opportunity.” He gives a short, respectful nod, then turns stiffly to leave the office.

***

Arthur is sure he was perfectly within his rights to sack Merlin. He no longer met his needs as a personal assistant. He needs someone who is able to understand his lifestyle and behave accordingly. And while Merlin could handle the office work, he needs someone also able to understand his needs outside of work; his social obligations are just as important to networking as any contractual ones.

So far, Cedric has met these criteria easily. While he himself isn’t from a well-bred family, obvious by the fact that he’s looking for work as a personal assistant instead of as someone who _needs_ a personal assistant, his mother was a servant in a wealthy household, and he seems to understand the importance of looking and behaving as someone in his position must.

Of course, there are ways Arthur has had to change his life, since Cedric doesn’t share Merlin’s blatant disregard of boundaries or personal space. For example, he now wakes to an alarm clock screaming uncomfortably close to his ear. This is not his favorite way to begin any day. The noise wrenches him so violently from sleep that it leaves his heart pounding and head foggy.

So he gives Cedric a key to his flat, with a request to wake him up in the mornings so that he doesn’t have to use the atrocious clock to wake himself. Cedric takes the key, stares at it in puzzlement, then attaches it to his keychain. “Sir, I would be happy to have access to your home on occasions when you need me to fetch or leave something for you. But I think it’s highly inappropriate for me to venture into your bedroom while you’re sleeping…”

Arthur frowns, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest. “My former assistant had no problem doing this for me. He often commented that I was a much more pleasant employer when I didn’t wake up to my alarm clock.”

Cedric bristles under the unspoken criticism. “Sir, even if I was comfortable with waking you up each morning, as you know, I live only about a kilometer from here, which is useful since I’m able to work here. I would have to walk seven in order to reach your flat. I don’t have a car, as you know.”

Arthur frowns, lets out a deep sigh. “Alright. At the very least, will you make sure I have a cappuccino waiting for me when I arrive in the morning. I’m much better equipped to deal with my day if I’ve had a caffeine jolt as early as possible.”

“Of course, sir. I’d be happy to.” And he does, every morning from then on, and Arthur recognizes the taste of the cappuccino as being from the swanky coffee shop around the corner. It oddly doesn’t taste as good as the ones Merlin made in his flat’s cappuccino maker, so one Sunday evening, Arthur makes one himself, to see if that difference is just in his head. Considering the one he makes is _awful_ , he figures it isn’t.

And it really isn’t as if the cappuccinos he receives _aren’t_ good; they just aren’t delicious in the same way they used to be. Either way, they are a caffeine kick for his tired brain each morning, and he is grateful at least for that.

His heart does a somersault when he first sees Merlin walking into the building with his messenger bag strap slung around his shoulders, the bag itself banging against his hip. He stares at him, watches him enter the lift without really thinking about calling out to him or anything. This is something he decides later is for the best, since the only way he could have seen him here is to have imagined him; why would he be in this building?

He decides he needs to find something to drink that has a little more caffeine.

***

“Hello, Merlin.” Morgana leaned over his desk, dressed sharply in a white blouse and a killer curve-inducing pencil skirt. Her red mouth dipped into a frown, her head tipping to the side as she watched him. “Have you found a new position?”

Merlin laughed bitterly, carefully loading his personal items into the cardboard box. “No, I’ve just lost the old one.”

“He sacked you? Let me guess; was it over that dreadful dry-cleaning incident?”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” He folded the box closed in careful motions, pressing the folding the flaps together. “I still don’t understand the problem. I know that you’re supposed to wear tuxedos to galas, but he looked very nice yesterday. It just – I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. It certainly isn’t very professional to complain to you about it.”

She laughed lightly, standing straight and smoothing her skirt. “He’s my brother. If you can’t complain to me about him, there is simply no one you can. Besides, I’m glad I’ve found this out. Gwen had a baby last month, as you know, and originally, she was only going to be gone for two months, but she has decided to devote herself to raising her child.”

“Oh, she mentioned that when I visited her this weekend. It didn’t occur to me that you’d be looking for a new assistant.” He huffed out a little laugh. “Then again, paying attention to other positions wasn’t something I needed to worry about before now.”

Morgana smiled gently. “Well, it’s lucky for you that I know you so well and am familiar with your work ethic. The position as my assistant is yours if you’d like it.”

He blinked up at her, surprised. “Are you sure? I haven’t even sent you a résumé.”

“You can, if you’d like, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve more than proven yourself capable. After all, you’ve worked for Arthur for three years. That’s no small feat.” She reached over to squeeze his hand where it lies on the box. “You can think about it, if you’d like. I just don’t like the idea of such a smart man living on the street because my prat of a brother doesn’t know a good thing when he has it.”

Merlin slid the box off the desk, curls his arms around it. “Thank you, Morgana. It’s a very generous and kind offer, and I will certainly consider it.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, I must go scold my brother for sulking and drinking too much at the gala. He probably wouldn’t have even been noticed in that suit if he hadn’t been such a child about it.” She swept past him and into Arthur’s office.

Merlin could practically hear the affronted tone in his voice at her appearance, and inwardly enjoyed the fact that he no longer had any contractual obligation to think of some ludicrous reason for her to stay out of his space.

The next morning, when he woke up at five o’clock and realized he is getting ready to go wake Arthur, he called Morgana and accepted the job.

He opens her office door with his elbow, pushes it with his shoulder and grins at her as he moves in to set her smoothie and fruit salad on her desk. “Here we are.”

“Oh, Merlin, you’re a lifesaver.” She falls into her chair, walks it over to the desk. “I have been on the phone with Nobu Takumoto for the past thirty-five minutes. In case you aren’t aware, I don’t speak Japanese particularly well. These are the things that Arthur is supposed to take care of, but of course, he was late this morning.”

Merlin sits down across the desk from her, dropping his bag beside his chair and plucking his mobile from one of the pockets. “I saw him in the lobby. He looked exhausted. He didn’t even acknowledge me when I waved at him.”

“Ah, well, that might be because he was a bit surprised to see you.” She stabs a strawberry with her plastic fork. “I may have neglected to tell him you’re working for me.”

He fishes a granola bar from his bag, his eyebrows lifted as he looks up at her while opening it. “Why did you do that?”

“I thought it would suitably irritate him once he realizes it. His new assistant is so stiff, formal. I suppose that’s why Arthur likes him, but I wouldn’t want to spend more than a few minutes with him.”

“That’s too bad. I’m sure he’s good at his job.”

“Oh, no doubt he is. He has one of those intolerable servant personalities. You know the ones: very humble, have no opinions of their own. He needs to realize he’s a PA, not a butler. He’s allowed to act like a human being.” She sighs wearily. “Anyway, I suppose you’ll meet him today; I drew up contracts with a few of our Japanese associates that I need Arthur to look over and sign. You can take them down to him.”

“Oh, joy.” Merlin rolls his eyes playfully. “I’ll do that sooner rather than later. Is this them here?” He taps a filing folder that sits on the corner of the desk. When she nods, he slides it off and into his hand, pushing it carefully into his bag. “Alright. Anything else you need from me while I’m down there?”

“No, thank you. I do have two meetings this afternoon; I need you to reschedule them. I have a hair appointment.”

“Your hair looks lovely…”

“Thank you, love.” She smiles up at him. “That is why I need to go get it done, before it stops looking lovely.”

Merlin figures he won’t ever understand women.

***

“Knock, knock.” Arthur looks up, blinks at Merlin where he’s standing in the doorway of his office, grinning. “Sorry to bother you. You look preoccupied.”

“Merlin!” He pushes himself to his feet. “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, dropping off some things for you to sign.” He fishes in his back, stepping further into the room. He holds out the folder to him. “Here you are. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to wait for them, or if you could have Cedric send them up once you’ve looked over them?”

Arthur takes it, confused, and opens it, even as he eyes him suspiciously over the edge of paper before looking over them. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. How did you get these?”

“Morgana gave them to me so that I could bring them down here for you to read and sign.”

“Morgana?”

“Yes. She’s my boss. I thought you knew?” Merlin knows perfectly well, of course, that he didn’t at all. “At any rate, would you prefer that I come back for them or would you like to have your assistant bring them upstairs?”

“Oh, yes, right, Cedric will bring them up.” Arthur waves him off, sinks back into his seat.

He nods slightly in acknowledgement. “Sir.” He offers as means of goodbye before turning to leave.

“Merlin?” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “No hard feelings?”

He thinks about it for a moment, shaking his head. “No hard feelings. You were always much more insufferable than Morgana.” He flashes him a grin and as he leaves, feels something slow and warm flutter into his esophagus at the fact that Arthur grinned back.

***

Merlin has been on several business trips with Arthur. Most were to parts of Wales and Ireland, and there was one memorable trip when they went to New York City. He’s never been to Paris, to accompany Arthur or otherwise. So when Morgana announces that they are spending three days in La Ville-Lumière, Merlin is nothing short of ecstatic, particularly when his boss informs him that if he’d like, while she’s in meetings, he’s free to spend the time touring the city.

And he does just that. He spends four hours one morning, after seeing to Morgana’s breakfast and making sure she knows her schedule for the day, wandering through the Louvre, admiring the sculptures and paintings. He prefers the ones he’s never heard of, the artists whose names he won’t remember, because he knows, with them, he isn’t enjoying them just because he thinks he’s meant to. (He pushes away the thought that if it’s in the _Louvre_ , he’s probably supposed to be impressed anyway.)

He wanders through the Pere-Lachaise Cemetery, pauses at Jim Morrison’s grave, Oscar Wilde’s, Chopin’s, and finds himself feeling very lonely, so he returns to the hotel to have lunch in the restaurant, where at least, he’ll be surrounded by people. While waiting for the maitre d’ to find him a table, he notices Arthur at the bar. He strolls over, leans against the bar beside him. “Hello, Arthur.”

Arthur looks up, pushes blond fringe out of his eyes, smiles a little too brightly probably. “Merlin! Hello. What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting to be seated. Would you like to join me for lunch? I think it’s fair to say you can be seen in public with me now that you’re no longer my employer.”

He rolls his eyes, sliding off his chair and hooking his sports jacket over his arm. “I’ve eaten meals with you more in three years than I have with my father in my entire life. I think it’s safe to say impropriety is a level that has been surpassed.”

They follow the maitre d’ to a table in the corner and settle across from each other. Merlin hums as he looks over his menu. “So how has Cedric been working out?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Rather formal for my tastes, but he’s helpful in all the ways I need him to be.”

Merlin pauses with his glass of water halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised. “Too _formal_ for your tastes? You said I annoyed you for the very opposite reason. I was far too casual.”

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat. “It seems you’ve grown on me. He simply cannot make a cappuccino like you do.”

“Ah, I knew that some day, I would get the recognition I deserve.” He teases, holding his hand out. “Let me see your mobile.”

Arthur’s eyebrow quirks up. “Why?” Merlin gives him a pointed look, so he does as asked, fishing it from his pocket and setting it in his palm. “Don’t break it.”

“I use the same one.” He rolls his eyes, tapping and scrolling through the options for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. Arthur considers reaching out to smooth the wrinkles with his fingertip, decides not to right as he’s lifting his hand. Merlin’s expression is nothing short of smug when he pushes the Blackberry back across the table. “There you are.”

Arthur eyes it suspiciously. “What did you do to it?”

“I set your alarm. I believe you still wake at six. At any rate, it’s set to vibrate. Place it under your pillow while you’re sleeping, and you’ll wake when you feel it vibrate, alright? A much gentler way to wake up than a beeping alarm clock.”

Arthur’s eyes widen, and his mouth hangs agape a little, an expression that clearly reads, _Why didn’t I think of that?_ He pockets the mobile. “If I sleep through it, you’ll owe me a drink.”

Merlin grins, and his shoulders lift up, slide down under his oversized jacket. “I never do.”

“This is your alarm in the morning?” Arthur has several unwanted images flash through his mind at once: Merlin’s flat, Merlin’s bedroom, Merlin’s bed, Merlin _in_ his bed, Merlin with his dark hair sleep-tousled and eyes drowsy, Merlin’s narrow shoulders curved in as he rubs the sleep from his face, Merlin’s back and the sharp knobs of his spine.

Merlin luckily can’t seem to read minds, since he settles back in his seat, nodding. “It’s never failed to wake me.”

“What about that one morning you didn’t come ‘round till seven?”

“That was because my neighbor’s cat ran out when she was saying good-morning to me, and I helped her chase him down before he could be struck by a car.”

Another unwanted image: sweet, big-hearted Merlin, running in slow-motion out into the street in pursuit of a tabby cat who’s just run into the path of a speeding bus. Melodramatic, but there you are. “That was kind of you.”

He shrugs, modest, in a way that says, _Anyone would have done the same_ , which instantly makes Arthur feel guilty because he’s sure he wouldn’t have. The waiter returns, and they order. “How were the meetings this morning? Successful?”

“Oh, yes, all’s well. We think tomorrow we’ll be signing the papers.”

“That’s great. Your charm and Morgana’s low-cut blouses, right?”

Arthur laughs loudly at that, his head tipping back, and Merlin admires the smooth lines of his neck, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. “Yes, that’s entirely it. These French men love Morgana’s cleavage.”

“I think most men do.” Merlin nods seriously, taking another drink, smiling lightly.

“Do you?”

“I appreciate their aesthetic qualities.”

“What a terribly diplomatic answer.”

“She’s my boss. Being sacked for sexual harassment is not in my plans.”

He nods, chuckling. “Fair enough.”

Merlin peers up at him through his eyelashes, shyly. “I’m enjoying myself. Thank you for joining me.”

Arthur’s face softens around the edges, the crinkles around his eyes smoothing out. “I hope we can be friends, Merlin. It’s different, being able to talk to you knowing that I’m not paying you.”

“It doesn’t bother you that Morgana is instead?”

“Well, no, you’re not my employee. No matter what I do with you, it doesn’t affect our work relationship since we really don’t have one.”

Merlin nods, eyes lighting up. “What are your plans for this evening?”

“I have a dinner with our clients around eight. It could be several hours.”

“Would you be done by eleven, do you think?”

“I – probably. I can make sure that I am. Why?”

“Come to the Eiffel Tower with me.”

Arthur blinks at him. “What?”

A blush curls up his neck, swirls around his cheeks, and he dips his head bashfully. “I’ve never been to the Eiffel Tower, and I wanted to go today, but it seemed so ugly during the day, and I thought it might be more beautiful at night, with the lights, and – well, I’d really like to go _with_ someone.”

Arthur’s heart pounds loudly in his ears. “Like a date?”

Merlin dares to meet his eyes. “If you’d like to call it that. It doesn’t have to be.”

“I’d like to call it that, if you would.” Arthur murmurs. “I could meet you at the bottom around 10:45?”

He loves the way Merlin’s face opens up, seems to fill with light. “That sounds brilliant.”

***

Arthur is late. He truly didn’t mean to be, but then Cedric drank too much at dinner (last time he invites his PA to join them; he never had this problem with Merlin), and he and Morgana had to excuse themselves to escort him back to his hotel room and get him situated for bed. He wanted to sack him on the spot, but Morgana talked him out of it, instead sending him off to meet Merlin.

It’s 11:04, and the last lift went up at exactly eleven, according to the guard at the door. Merlin is nowhere to be found, and his mobile rings unanswered each time Arthur calls. He runs his fingers through his hair, curling his coat in close around him, glaring at any of those men who make their money by selling tourists useless souvenirs, so that they know he isn’t one of them.

He waits for almost an hour and finally considers giving up when the people begin to pour out of the lift, which has just reached the bottom of the tour. He stands out of the way of the mobs, watching lamentably as couples, holding hands or snuggling together against the cold as they walk, talk about how romantic the view was.

“Arthur?” He turns, and there’s Merlin, and Christ, if he doesn’t look especially beautiful – his cheeks rosy from the wind, pea-coat fitted and flattering, skinny jeans and sneakers nothing short of endearing. Arthur’s never seen him outside of his work attire, and he somehow finds him so much more attractive in this casual setting. He walks over toward him, pressing fists pink with cold into his pockets. “I tried to call. The lift was leaving, and I wanted to go while I had the chance.”

“I’m so sorry. I tried so hard to be here. I _wanted_ to be here.”

“I know.” Merlin smiles, scuffs his sneaker against the ground. “You wouldn’t have said yes when I asked you out if you didn’t really want to be here. I know you tried. Thank you for trying.”

“Wasn’t much of a date, was it?” Arthur’s stomach stabs with guilt, and he winces openly.

Merlin checks his watch, then reaches for his hand, pulling him away. Arthur asks where they’re going, but he doesn’t answer. He finally turns, when the Tour is out far enough for them to be able to see it without craning their necks. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Yes…” Arthur says slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “And?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, points at the Tower when it lights up, his smile full of glee. “It’s beautiful. It’s so much more beautiful down here, where I can see it. I thought it would be just – the view from the top was beautiful but…” He trails off as Arthur pulls him in close against his side, and nuzzles in against him.

It’s a little awkward, since Merlin’s taller than he is, but he still somehow manages to make himself small in his arms, not trying to hunch over into him, but just pressing close and watching. Arthur watches him; he’s seen the Eiffel Tower light up plenty of times. He hasn’t watched Merlin light up nearly enough.

They kiss for the first time there, with Merlin’s cold hands curled around his hips, beneath his coat, Arthur’s gloved fingers pressed against the nape of his neck, the Eiffel Tower twinkling behind them like a painting.

***

“Why not?” Arthur’s lower lip pushes, his eyes puppy-dog wide as he watches Merlin get undressed.

He rolls his eyes, crawls into the bed beside him, resting half on top of him. He presses their lips together, his thumb rubbing against his jaw. “Because then we’ll be having an office romance and not the glorious love affair we currently are.” He tucks his arms under his lover, resting his head on his chest.

Arthur pulls the blankets up around his shoulders, petting his hair back lightly. “You still _work_ in the same office as me, Merlin.”

“I work in the same building, not the same office.” He points out, lifting his head and shifting to kiss his sternum. “You know, I’ve thought about being in this bed with you a lot over the last three years.”

Arthur’s eyes soften. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Vastly overrated really.”

He pinches him. “Cheeky. Anyway, I’ve already sacked Cedric; I _need_ you to come back to work for me.”

“ _No._ Find a new Cedric.”

He huffs. “Fine.”

Merlin smiles, wiggles up to lean his elbow beside his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, dipping his head to kiss him slowly, his tongue sliding against his lip so that Arthur tips up into him, his hand cupping his jaw. He sighs happily at the touch. “I will get up, every morning, at six o’clock.” He says quietly. “I’ll make you a cappuccino, kiss you awake, lay out your clothes and send you off to shower, and while you’re getting clean, I’ll make you breakfast.” He kisses him again, lightly, his hand sliding down to curl around his cock, squeezing.

Arthur’s breath hitches, and his hips lift up. “That _sounds_ an awful lot like what an employee would do.”

“If I _was_ , sucking you off like I intend to in a moment would make me a prostitute.”

“You make a compelling argument. Alright, you don’t have to work for me.”

“Thank you for your permission, sir.” Merlin nips playfully at his lip before kneeling and pushing the blankets back, curling over to press his lips to the tip of his cock, stroking firmly to get him hard.

He used to settle between his legs to blow him, when their relationship first became sexual, but Arthur commented that he would prefer it if he was to the side, where he could put his hands on him more easily, and since then, Merlin has always complied, partially to make his boyfriend happy, partially because he appreciates the attention.

Right now, Arthur’s hand has settled on the back of his neck, not applying any pressure or trying to rush him, simply rubbing, his thumb working in deep circles against the tendon on the side of his neck, a place he knows makes his lover moan. He does so now as he slides his lips around the head, sucking surely, his tongue lapping at the slit.

As he settles into the task, bobbing his head, squeezing his hand periodically around the base, Arthur sighs and settles back into the bed, his hand palming Merlin’s back, tracing the sharp knobs of his spine with his fingertips. His hips rock, working with his rhythm, slow, easy, and his orgasm washes over him just the way he likes it to at the end of an exhausting day, soft and warm.

He wonders if this is just another way that Merlin knows exactly what he needs at any given moment, and when he crawls back up to his side, hitching the blankets up around them and kissing his neck, his arm draping across his chest, he doesn’t ask for reciprocation, for which Arthur is grateful. It’s something that used to stab his insides with guilty, to be too weary at the end of the workday for sex. But Merlin doesn’t keep score and allows Arthur to be as slow and attentive during their love-making as he likes, never demanding anything more than he offers (even though Arthur really wants to give him the world each time they kiss).

Arthur trails his fingertips over his ribs, his lips quirking up when he wiggles a little at the touch. “Promise I’ll wake to you in the morning?”

Merlin kisses his jaw. “Promise.”


End file.
